


102 Deductions

by ladyprydian



Series: Alternating Current Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dog - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyprydian/pseuds/ladyprydian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where in our heroes solve crime on a damp night. Lube is mentioned as is cooking a steak. Though fortunately, not together as the results of that could be some nasty burns.</p><p>Note: Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you</p>
            </blockquote>





	102 Deductions

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone else enjoyed a chortle from the summary after reading the story. You're welcome. 
> 
> There is something about this that I'm not happy with (constructive feedback is welcome). The middle section seems more like a list then a story, but I've sat on this for close to three years now. Mostly forgetting that it was finished. So I'm throwing this up here, sending it out so I can clear this albatross from my "fic-unfinished" folder to my "fic-finished" folder. 
> 
> I also don't think it helps that I caught a re-run of CSI:NY (S2 ep 11 "Trapped") and realized the case in this is pretty much exactly what happened in an episode of that show. I didn't intend for that to happen, so credit for the case goes to Jerry Bruckheimer, the writers of the CSI:NY staff, et al. 
> 
> Thanks to [azriona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona) who betaed this and probably doesn't remember it, but made it much, much better. Any resulting grammatical, spelling or plot errors are mine.
> 
> Tess' relationship with Mycroft comes [from the fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/964225%22) [Kizzia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzia/pseuds/Kizzia) wrote for me.

The night was chilly and damp; too heavy to be called fog, too light for rain. The weather had settled somewhere in between, creating an overall feeling of wet. The dampness wormed its way between layers of clothing, leaving one chilled to the bone.

Until thirty minutes ago, from the roof top of a three story building, beaming up into the night sky and reflecting off the clouds, was something vaguely reminiscent of the bat-signal. Rather than the image of a bat, the clouds had revealed the silhouette of a person. The shifting nature of the sky broke up the image and the rain distorted it. But, by taking a few extra seconds to look at the misleading image, smaller shoulders and a narrow waist became defined. The image was female. Arms spread out slightly too either side.

DI Greg Lestrade sighed at another young person losing their life. An hour ago, when he first arrived on scene, he noted that the reflection was accurate. The victim was a young woman lying face down arms outstretched on a massive spot light, clad in only a pink bikini. Her head was turned so the left side of her face was exposed to the burning heat of the lamp. The rest of her body, which was on top of light, was a mess of second and third degree burns; skin scorching and sizzling on the hot halogen heated glass lens. 

To avoid blinding and burning everyone he had immediately ordered the light to be shut off, though it remained, half an hour later, burning hot. Greg could now also see that the heat had fused the some of synthetic material of the bikini bra and panties into her skin, while other parts had burnt completely away. The dampness of the air added to the sickening blistering sound and did nothing for the smell of charred flesh and burnt hair.

He ran through the questions that needed answering in his head. What was she doing up on the roof, near the spot light? Hell, what was she doing outside at all in this kind of weather in so few clothes? What were the circumstances that led her to ending up on the light, and why? Her position on the light indicated she was pushed as she had failed to stop her fall. The scene shows the signs of a struggle, shoe scuff marks around the light, more scuff marks just a few feet away indicating that someone was pacing, a torn and dropped satin dressing gown, a small pile of stubbed out cigarettes.

Other than the third degree burns, she had clearly cracked her skull in the fall as there was a pool of blood spreading out from beneath her head. It blackened as it burnt on the hot surface of the light. There was a bruise forming on her right cheek and a shallow cut over the cheekbone. The blood, red this time, had run down across her nose before dripping off. He didn’t need Molly Hooper to tell him that, for a short while, she was alive when she hit the light but rendered unconscious almost immediately. It explained why she failed to break her fall and also why she failed to get off of the scalding surface.

Anderson had told him that he found traces of personal lubricant all over her body, not just the obvious places like hands, mouth and private parts but between her toes and along the back of her knees and in the crooks of her elbows. 

He texted for Sherlock, not because he needed Sherlock to solve how or why this crime had been committed (though a few hints are always welcome), but rather he knew from John that Sherlock was researching the characteristics of different burn patterns and would find this case interesting for that research.

“Freak’s here with his dogs,” came Sally Donovan’s voice over his radio. Lestrade didn’t know where to start with correcting that statement. He didn’t feel like a fight at the moment so rather than dress her down in front of the others for the slur against Sherlock and John; he closed his eyes, sighed and made a mental note to reprimand her about it later in private.

Despite initial misgivings, and there were many and they were vocal, about Sherlock bringing a dog to crime scenes, Tesla had been a remarkable addition to the Holmes-Watson team. 

At just about four years old, she was extremely well trained. Along with the traditional commands of; sit, stay, down, off, leave it, come and shake-a-paw (Lestrade contributed that one to John), she never left heel unless Sherlock told her to stay somewhere, and stay she would. 

She altered the outward appearance of Sherlock’s personality. Sure the man never lost his abrasiveness but how angry can you get with a man who is insulting you when there is an adorable Dalmatian sitting beside him? A Dalmatian that intuitively knew when suspects or witnesses were upset. If Tesla was present during any interrogation or questioning, people opened up and gave more answers, directing their responses to her rather than the person asking the questions. 

Lestrade was more than happy to let this happen. If it increased his conviction rate, well, that was one less criminal off of the streets. If it mad made him look good to his superiors, he wasn’t going to complain about that either. The main reason though, was for his own enjoyment. It annoyed Sherlock to no end that people would rather direct their responses to a dog than him. 

John had explained the psychology and therapeutic benefits behind it; the petting and stroking of a pet helps to calm even the most agitated person. Having an animal present reduces depression, loneliness and anxiety and lowers blood pressure.

‘Sentiment!’ Sherlock would snarl. A sneer across his face each and every time it happened. 

Tess even had a direct influence on Sherlock. He was more demonstrative with his emotions. Rather than hide everything behind a mask of urbane impassivity Tess pulled expressions of abject delight when she did the smallest thing right. His praise of her good deeds was genuine and full of heart. If John had helped Sherlock ‘feel’ his emotions, then Tesla was helping him ‘show’ them.

When Sherlock was becoming wound up and angry she would settle him much the way she settled distraught or angry suspects. She would quietly pad over and put her chin on a knee or nudge a leg with her head. Her chocolate brown eyes would be wide and begging for you to pet her. Her tail would be wagging, her dainty pink collar (“A gift from Mrs. Hudson,” John declared red faced and loud any time someone remarked on it) matched her pink panting tongue, giving her doggie features something akin to a smile. 

It would put Sherlock at ease; he too followed the predictable pattern of behavior that suspects or people being questioned would. Hands would go to soft doggie ears or that one black spot on the exact top of her head. Fingers would find the sensitive spot at the back of her right ear that caused Tesla to thump her right hind leg. An expression of doggie bliss would come across her face. 

Additionally, if Sherlock told her to seek she sought with an accuracy rate that rivaled the DSU unit of the Met. 

The first time Lestrade watched her seek out she tracked five year old Rebecca Brennan down in St Pancreas station. It was a straight forward case of parental kidnapping when Susan Brennan’ ex-husband, Kris Zimmer, had taken their daughter, Rebecca, from her school. 

The school phoned Susan because Rebecca wasn’t in afternoon classes. The police were notified and Brennan had also contacted Sherlock and John. Lestrade was surprised when Sherlock showed up at the Met telling them he knew were the child was. He knew that Sherlock normally didn’t take kidnapping cases because the majority were straightforward; the kidnapper was generally a family member or someone else known to the child. 

But Sherlock then said something about wanting Tesla to practice her tracking skills. The combination of Sherlock’s deduction and the Child Rescue Alert gave them the information that Zimmer was at St Pancreas, getting ready to board a train to France. 

At St Pancreas, Tesla had run off like a liltie and found Rebecca in a small café in the station. She proceeded to lick, cuddle and protect the scared girl until the rest of them caught up. Zimmer, who had left his daughter to use the bathroom, gave himself up the moment he saw the police. 

Really, it had all been very anti-climactic. 

Tesla was also fiercely loyal. He once had the pleasure of watching her tackle a grown man five times her size because he tried to flee his arrest. 

Joseph Peterson, a commissionaire at the Ritz hotel, found himself in possession of the necklace when he found a stray bag in the lobby of the Hotel. Sherlock had made a string of deduction from both the necklace – owned by the Countess of Morcar, who had hired Sherlock to find her necklace, was thrilled to have the jewlery, given to her by her late husband, back. Sherlock’s deductions about the bag had led to a Henry Vogle, owner of the Breckinridge Pawn shop.

Vogle had led them to James Ryder who was a maintenance employee at the Ritz. Ryder had a string of theft charges attached to his name and tried to make a run for it when Tesla tackled him. Ryder tried to fight Tess off and ended up having an uncomfortable ride in the police car on his way to the station for booking considering Tess had bit him on his arse. 

Another time, he saw her run down another criminal who had a knife. In this case they were after a Preston Boyden who was accused of making and distributing child pornography. During the sting operation Boyden had slashed John, superficially, on the arm cutting more clothing than skin, but Tesla took after him like some sort of hound from hell, barking and braying. He needed 28 stitches to close up the bites she gave him.

Then there were the blog stories which Lestrade always made sure to ask John about. According to John and confirmed by Sherlock (with unholy, abject glee), Tess had taken an instant dislike to Mycroft. 

His first blog post about Tess was only three days after they got her. Until that moment, John wrote, neither of them had heard a peep from Tesla. No barks, no whines, no yips, nothing. That changed the moment she heard the door open and Mycroft’s quiet tread on the steps. 

Both John and Sherlock had been oblivious to the sound of the door until Tess suddenly let out a shockingly ferocious growl. The rumble turned into a flurry of harsh barks then back into a loud menacing snarl. John said he and Sherlock had shared a look of “what the hell” until they too heard Mycroft’s foot fall.

Sherlock happily provided the information that Mycroft had held a dislike of canines since the incident, when he was eleven, with a kitchen sponge, a pheasant, two boxes of gelatin powder, and the family dog, Redbeard. Mycroft had wielded his umbrella like a medieval knight fighting a dragon. Pointing the end of it at Tess and demanding what “it” was. Sherlock snarked a reply as Tesla inched forward and Mycroft took a large step backwards before quickly fleeing forgetting entirely to mention whatever it was he came to 221b for.

The second blog post (and Greg had this one memorized because the first time he read it he fell of his chair laughing) about Tesla and Mycroft ended in a possible world ending disaster. According to John’s blog, Mycroft had phoned ahead so John, being the polite individual he is, had put Tess in the kitchen and pulled the kitchen doors shut. Normally this action was done to keep Tesla out of the kitchen when Sherlock was running an experiment. Sherlock vehemently protested this action. Arguing that 221b was Tesla’s home and she was allowed free range of it, that she was a guard dog and locking her in the kitchen wasn’t reinforcing her protective instincts.

John had argued back that Mycroft had actually phoned ahead this time rather than just popping in whenever it suited him and the least they could do is make sure that Tess was out of the way. Sherlock then proceeded to tune his violin in such a way to ensure maximum annoyance when he sawed the bow across the strings. Tesla howled along from the kitchen. 

When Mycroft arrived he didn’t even get the chance to ring the doorbell. Tesla, through a round of barking, had seen to notifying all residents of 221 that Mycroft’s car pulled up to the curb. So by the time Mycroft was at the door, ready to press the buzzer, John was already there opening it and telling him that Tess was in the kitchen so he need not worry about her.

Mycroft and Sherlock had settled into their typical sniping when John offered tea and carefully opened one of the sliding doors to let himself into the kitchen but not let Tess out. When she spotted him she came over with a toy. 

He tossed it for her a few times as he waited for the water to boil. Watching her flip the rubber toy up in the air to make it bounce and skitter off in a random direction. In the time it took John to slide open the kitchen door, deposit the full tea tray and return to slide the door shut, none of the three men noticed what Tesla had managed to do. 

What Tesla had accomplished was steal Mycroft’s umbrella from beside the chair he was sitting in. John didn’t notice because he was more preoccupied with shutting the door again and getting tea served. 

Sherlock didn’t notice because he was looking out the window. (Though, Sherlock would later claim in the comments of John’s blog that he did see it happen and just chose not to say anything. John refuted this by commenting back that Sherlock was facing the window with his back turned to the room. Sherlock then argued that he saw it happen through the reflection of the glass. John countered this argument by saying that there was no way he could see what happened in the room through the angle of the reflection in the glass. Sherlock then dropped the whole thing by saying that it was time for Tesla’s walk.)

Mycroft didn’t notice for two reasons. Firstly, he was embroiled in a wit battle with his brother and, secondly, was studiously ignoring the fact that there was a dog in residence. It wasn’t until he was preparing to leave that he noticed “The Great Brolly Heist” (John’s title for the blog entry) had occurred.

It was John who found what was left of Mycroft’s umbrella when he brought the tea things back into the kitchen. According to John it was carnage, the fabric was shredded and all over the floor, as were the ribs and the stretches. She had managed to unhook all of the component parts of the tube so the springs had skittered under the cooker and John didn’t find the ferrule or the runner for another six months. When he found her she was having a great time chewing the teak with rosewood inlay crook handle.

Mycroft was the epitome of apoplectic rage, while Sherlock offered nothing helpful by promptly going to Tesla praising her for her magnificent heist. Tesla then locked eyes with Mycroft, dropped the crook from her mouth, and let out a yodel that was probably heard two streets over. Mycroft disappeared so suddenly that John couldn’t even apologize and was left wondering if Mycroft was in possession of a functioning Transporter. The combination of the bang of the front door and Tesla’s yodel lead to Mrs. Hudson shouting up the stairs, asking if everything was all right. 

Sherlock, apparently, answered in a tone reserved for locked room serial killers that everything was perfect. 

Suffice to say, the moment she entered their lives Tesla was as ubiquitous with Sherlock as John or a mobile phone. 

 

“Cuppa?” said John offering Lestrade a Styrofoam cup and bringing him out of his wool-gathering. “Splash of milk and steaming.”

“Ta, mate,” Greg said taking the offered cup and peeling back the lid. Tesla was sitting beside John’s left leg. Her lead wasn’t clipped to her collar but Lestrade knew it was probably in Sherlock’s pocket. He reached out and rubbed one of her ears. “Has he been good, Tess my girl?” Yes, he was man enough to admit he was smitten and fully fell for her doggie charms.

“Happier since you texted about this,” John responded looking over and waving the hand that wasn’t holding his own cup of tea in the direction of Sherlock. “Though he did whine and moan on the way here that this was a two at best.”

“Yeah well I was the one who told him that; he didn’t need to drag you out,” Lestrade said with a sigh, “just going to take some leg work on my end. But you told me he was researching burn patterns so I thought he might like to see this one. Not a situation you come across all the time.” 

“True enough,” John said, “He demanded I confirm if some photos he got from God knows where are what burns from an IED look like.” John paused a small shudder ran through him. Tesla gave a low whine and pressed herself into John’s leg. He reached his hand down to rub at her ear. “What’s the situation here?”

“Vic’s Michelle Clark-Mills, stage name Candi. She’s a stripper in the club below. I was in there just before you and Sherlock arrived. No John, no. Don’t even think it. I was comfortable in my nice warm bed before I got dragged out to this,” Lestrade said, pointing a stern finger at John and the cheeky grin that had spread across his face when Lestrade told him he was in the strip bar below. “The owner, a…” He took a second to scan his note pad for the name. “George Kennedy, he identified the vic. He also admits to being in a romantic relationship with her but they ended it tonight, something about her cheating on him and him being able to ‘pluck whatever cherry he wanted’.” Lestrade said, pulling a face on that last statement.

“Could Kennedy have come up here and killed her? Revenge for the cheating, regardless of what ‘cherry’ he could have?” John asked, his lips pursing into a grimace at the end of the question.

“Possible but unlikely, Kennedy’s got cameras everywhere. He says it’s to keep the girls safe, but I have my doubts to that as his only reason. Footage is being checked at the Yard. He said, though, that before she went on break, the vic was in an altercation with a client. Forensics is looking for any evidence the client might have left behind,” Lestrade said. 

“John!” a shout came from Sherlock.

“I’d better go see what he’s up to before I end up with a fridge full of skin slides and tissue samples, and you’re stuck with explaining why bits of your victim are no longer with the rest of her body,” with that John ambled over to where Sherlock was using his magnifying glass to look at the girl on the light. Tesla was right beside him.

Lestrade watched as Sherlock spoke to John quietly. John was looking at whatever Sherlock had indicated to, while Sherlock was watching John and listening to his response. Tesla was sniffing around the scene, nose to the ground. She gave a low ‘woof’ then went over to Sherlock and put her front paws up against him. 

“What did you find, Tesla?” he heard Sherlock ask and watched as Tess led Sherlock back to the exact spot she was a few moments ago. Sherlock crouched down, pulling an evidence bag and forceps from his coat pocket.

Just then, Lestrade noticed that Sally was stalking towards him. Her mouth was set in a firm pinched line. 

“Donovan,” Lestrade said a tone of warning in his voice. He knew full well what she was going to say.

“It will happen, Sir. Look at her; she’s all over the crime scene. We’re going to get in trouble one day because of the dog hair contamination. What about allergies?” she demanded. This was an old conversation, one they hashed out ever time Sherlock brought Tesla to a crime scene, which was, every time they saw him. He even brought her into the Met offices and morgue at Bart’s. “Doctor Hooper, down at Bart’s, let’s her into the morgue! How are we going to tell the day when the Freak takes murder into his own hands and the whole crime scene is covered in fur from that dog, just like every other damned crime scene we work?”

Lestrade had to stop himself from heaving a sigh. In most circumstances, Sally was right. This had become an old argument between the two of them. Tesla was not registered as an assistance dog and therefore didn’t have the rights to access places where pets are barred but assistance dogs are allowed. John had told him, during an evening of pints, pub grub and a failed attempt at darts at the Fox’s Feathers, that Tesla was registered as a medical detection dog. 

It was Sherlock who had initiated the process. He said that Tesla would be the best trained dog and he put her through the training courses for medical detection had done that. She was trained to scent the odor of cancer and other life threatening medical conditions on people. He even had the high visibility red jacket and certificate to prove her status. They had also joined the local search and rescue with her and she a scent specific trailing search dog. Tesla was taught to follow a scent trail by looking for and following human scent particles. This was no different the training the dog support unit went through. In fact, some of the lads down in the DSU had said they had seen Sherlock with Tesla at the training facilities.

“You know my answer to that Sally; just treat her like one of the DSU dog. Just about any dog that’s intelligent and of sound temperament can become part of the DSU. If there is any dog of sound temperament, it’s Tess, she accepting and friendly towards strangers, she stays calm; she obeys commands, and reacts well to other dogs and is never bothered by distractions. You were there time she found the kid at the train station. The rest of us weren’t even out of our cars and she had the girl safe and sound. By getting angry and showing Sherlock that you are upset, you only end up giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he was able to wind you up over something you can’t do a thing about,” Lestrade told her. 

Sally said nothing but squared her jaw, anger flashing in her eyes before she turned and stalked back to the perimeter of the crime scene. Her problem with Sherlock aside, Sally was an excellent investigator and liaison with the public and press who tended to gather and rubber neck at crime scenes. No, he didn’t want to lose her just because she didn’t get along with Sherlock. 

He also had a sneaky suspicion that one of the reasons why Sally didn’t like Tesla being around was because Sally was one of the other few people Tess was aloof with. She never reacted violently towards Sally, Tess simply ignored Sally. She didn’t want Sally petting her and she wouldn’t accept treats from her. Lestrade believed this snub hurt Sally more then she let on.

As Sally stalked away, John came back over, “So where’s Anderson then?” he asked. “Isn’t he usually keen to examine the body himself?”

“Last I saw Anderson he was wading through a five by five by three foot pool filled with lube, looking for evidence related to the last client our victim was with.”

“What? Seriously? Why?” John queried. 

“Something to do with lube wrestling down in the club, which is, apparently, its main attraction. One of the girls will go in and bate one of the punters to ‘fight’ her. The customers are usually so intoxicated or thinking so much with their pricks that the girl easily wins. According to the club manager, the girls are pretty sure footed in the pool and it takes a lot to knock them over. The punter usually falls flat on his face within a matter of seconds.”

“Please tell me you took a photo of Anderson in that mess,” John said not even bothering to try to hide the broad smile that had over taken his face.

“Yeah like that wouldn’t be unprofessional of me,” Lestrade said with false sincerity. “Of course I did. Right after he did what every berk who chooses to ‘fight’ one of the girls does. He lost his footing and face planted into the whole mess.” 

He pulled out his phone and showed John the snap he took of Anderson. He was covered from head to toe in some sort of lube/gel. Mask in one gloved hand, he looked like he was spluttering some of it out his mouth, the other hand coming up to his face to rub it away. His blue protective suit and rubber hip waders glistened with the stuff. 

John and Greg started to laugh. “Christ, you have to email that to me,” John said breathless from laughter. “I want it as my screensaver.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t laugh at crime scenes, John,” Sherlock said as he came up beside John. Tesla sat down when he stopped, and he blindly patted her head.

“This is, most definitely, an exception to that rule.” John said between giggles, while handing Lestrade’s phone to Sherlock. 

A crooked smile broke across Sherlock’s features and a low chuckle started deep in his throat before rumbling up into a true laugh. He emailed the photo to both himself and John before handing the phone back to Lestrade with a wicked smile. 

“Sherlock,” Lestrade said with a groan. “Please don’t email that to the whole yard. I’ll be in serious trouble if you do.”

“Oh no,” Sherlock said that sinful smile flittering across his lips, his eyes bright with mirth, “wouldn’t dream of it. This is blackmail material.” His eyes widened a touch more on the word ‘blackmail.’ His expression then switched as he went into deduction mode, “I think you will find that the victim was killed by a jealous ex-lover, possibly an artist but more likely a photographer considering the shape of the foot prints. The lover will be female judging by the tiny fragment of coral and the zirconia that Tess found under the light. The zirconia is most likely from a ring and came loose as the victim was punched across her right cheek. It is a larger ring judging by the width of the cut. While the coral came from a pendant, a fragment broke off in the struggle between the two of them. The name of the perpetrator will start with a ‘G’. That should be enough for you to go on,” he rattled the information out with his normal rapidity while handing over two sealed crime scene bags. One with the coral fragment, the other with a small diamond shaped zirconia. “Come, Tesla,” with that he spun on his heel and began walking away, Tesla trotting along beside him. 

“Right,” Lestrade said making the effort to jot down what Sherlock had said. 

John shrugged his shoulders and left with a “see you later,” and a short wave.

“Yep,” Lestrade said raising his hand in salutation. He looked at his notes again. He noted there was a picture amongst the vic’s things; two women on a white sand beach, hugging and mugging the camera. On the back it said ‘June 2011, Turks and Cacaos, Gemma and me’. Gemma, ‘G’, good enough place to start. 

He looked back up to see Sherlock holding open the door that lead from the roof to the stairs so Tesla and John could go through. Their backs were to him but the last thing Lestrade heard was John exclaiming: “If you even think about trying to recreate this crime scene at home; the least you could do is use some nice steak so we can have something for dinner. “

Lestrade smiled and shook his head. No one could ever say that John Watson couldn’t make the best of any situation.


End file.
